


Untitled

by akaya



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Other, crack and insanity is my everyday meal, mpreg can be scary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-04-11
Updated: 2011-04-11
Packaged: 2017-10-17 22:48:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaya/pseuds/akaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m pregnant,” says the other man, looking him straight in the eye. Saito doesn’t even bat an eye at the sudden exclamation. His breath is even and his hands are not even slightly sweaty. It’s like the words weren’t taken straight out of some new age soap opera.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I’m pregnant,” says the other man, looking him straight in the eye. Saito doesn’t even bat an eye at the sudden exclamation. His breath is even and his hands are not even slightly sweaty. It’s like the words weren’t taken straight out of some new age soap opera.

“Yes?” he says slowly, his brain still processing the information. It couldn’t be because of the Inception. Surely it wouldn’t affect Robert Fischer’s brain like that.

“Don’t you have anything else to say?” Robert visibly seethes. He’s biting his lower lip as he glares at the older man.

“Do I?” Kenichiro Saito actually allows himself to look confused, seeing as they’re the only two people in his office. That is of course if there aren’t any bugs planted in the room of course.

“It’s yours obviously,” Robert huffs a breath and moves his hand through his slightly curly hair. Saito follows the movement of those slender fingers and stops himself from pointing out the obvious – Men _do not_ get pregnant.

“A baby?” He straightens in his chair, before getting up and walking towards Fischer, the younger man is shorter by a few centimetres. A fact Saito often finds himself smiling at, seeing as his own height is rather unusual for a man of his ancestry.

“Yes a baby, a goddamn infant you,” Robert points accusing finger at Saito’s chest. “Planted in me,” he finishes angry and crosses his hands over his chest, looking at him expectantly.

“I planted you with an infant,” he repeats slowly, chewing on the words and actually liking their taste on his tongue. He makes a humming noise, before moving a step forward and touching the other’s stomach gingerly, feeling the warmth of skin under the newest model of a Zegna suit that Fischer is wearing. Robert’s eyes loose some of the anger that was there moments before and he clears his throat, suddenly feeling incredibly stupid and avoiding Saito’s eyes. This is the moment that Saito realizes that it doesn’t matter if it’s only Robert’s deranged fantasy. He will gladly take responsibility of it.

+

It’s a few days later, in a completely different part of the world – France, _again_. When _it_ happens. There is a small and easy job on the horizon and Saito decided to amuse himself partaking in it as a tourist. He is their boss and if the violent and painful death doesn’t put him off then so be it.

“I’m telling you,” Ariadne stage whispers to no one in particular when Saito and Cobb go under. “He’s not human.”

But Yusuf only sends her a friendly smile and shrugs. They’re already used to Saito’s quirks and sudden whims. It’s easier to ignore it in a long run.

  
Unless, it so happens impossible to ignore the issue any longer.

  
“Arthur, darling,” starts Eames, ignoring the Point’s angry hiss and a curse or two sent his way. “Tell me,” the British man continues without missing a beat and sits on Arthur’s desk and his papers. “Am I still high on Yusuf’s new special mix or is Mr.Saito looking through _Babies’R’us_ catalogue?”

“This is not even remotely funny,” Arthur sighs and throws him an annoyed glance, trying to pull the documents from under Eames without them tearing. “Eames,” the annoyance is getting worse.

“No, darling,” Eames says and bats at his hands, and that makes Arthur stop what he’s doing and look at the man’s face closely. Eames’s brows are furrowed, but his mouth curves upwards, so Arthur turns to look at Saito.

  
And has to blink. Twice.

  
Saito. _Kenichiro Saito_ , one of the world’s wealthiest men and a CEO of Saito Enterprises seems to be currently very engrossed in a Babies’R’us catalogue, looking perfectly at ease with it. Arthur, by pure instinct, reaches for his totem, safely hidden in a pocket within his slacks. Being stuck in a dream is no laughing matter. Even as bizarre as this, he thinks.

“Yeah, ditto,” Eames snorts and Arthur’s fingers clench on the small red die, feeling the subtle dimples in it.

“Mr. Arthur,” Saito’s calm voice pierces the air, startling the other two. Eames hides his flinch with a cough. Subtle, snorts Arthur and looks back at the CEO.  
“Yes, Mr. Saito?”

“Do you by any chance remember what is Mr.Fischer’s favourite colour?”  
“Green,” he says and can’t help the sudden raise of both of his brows. _Is that important for the job?_ He wants to ask, but doesn’t do it.

  
+

Robert Fischer will not ask Kenichiro Saito to buy him a Gossip company, or two – _well, a few of them actually_ … He will not!

“I will not,” he heaves, and retches tasting his breakfast – for a second time this morning. His personal assistant - _he thinks her name might be Ms. Pepper_ \- stands behind him and drills holes in the back of his scull. Robert knows. He knows, because he’d been on a receiving end of the stink eye ever since his mother passed away. He’s long used to the way people look at him.

He’d gladly tell her off. Yell and curse, so she’d stop staring and do something useful instead of gaping at him like a retarded owl!

  
If getting reacquainted with half digested food wasn’t taking his time. _Shit._

“Mr. Fischer?” her voice is muffled, but he can’t be sure at the moment. His own breathing harsh and alien to his ears.

He ignores her. Communication with the world seems like a unbearable task so he rests his forehead against a very expensive toilet seat and tries, tries so hard, to not think about who was sitting there previously and what germs were happily residing in the elegant, white bowl.

“Yes, Ms. Potts?” he asks after two long minutes and mentally claps himself on the back for actually remembering her name. It does not impress her though.  
“Should I call a doctor?” Ms. Potts asks tentatively and he closes his eyes again, tries breathing through his nose yet not making any moves to stand up from the bathroom’s floor.

Actually feeling comfortable now that his stomach is empty.

  
Bathroom’s floor, he thinks and cringes. _With a head practically in the toilet. Oh, this is rich. Daddy would be so proud of little Robert_ , a mocking voice inside his head says and he bits his lip.

“No,” he says, failing spectacularly to sound authoritative. “No. I’m alright,” he tries again, scrunching his nose in disgust..

“With all due respect sir - ” Ms. Potts says again, but he growls and pushes himself from the toilet to glare at her. His eyes are blurry, unfocused and he can feel another wave of nausea coming, but he grits his teeth, fighting against it.

“I said no,” he chokes, swallowing harshly and pats his suit pockets for a cell-phone.

  
He _will_ kill Kenichiro Saito.

+

“Newspaper!” Ariadne storms into the hotel room, waving aforementioned newspaper like a flag of victory. It’s another week later and they’re in the middle of a job. Cobb looks up with an awkward smile at her and goes back to texting with his daughter the rest of the team ignores her. The job is nothing like Inception and they actually find it easy to be laid back about it. Including Arthur and his newfound love for crosswords and sudoku that Eames has to share his _Arthur and me_ time with. This does make him jealous a bit.

  
“Yes, I’m pretty sure we all know what a Newspaper is,” Cobb says after a moment, waiting for his daughter to write back. They were having a very important conversation about waffles. Ever since the reconnection with his children he’s been showing less burdened side of his personality.

Ariadne huffs at their lack of enthusiasm and takes a seat next to Saito, _who happens to be busy reading a book with a woman and a child on the cove_ r. She decides not to comment and instead asks, “Yes, but have you read it?”

“I google my information,” mutters Arthur, biting the tip of his pencil.

“Is there something we should know about?” Asks Eames, looking up from the photographs he’s been looking at.

“It’s been all over the news,” she says, excited that they don’t know yet. “Fischer is a drunkard! It’s all over the newspapers!”

“I’m quite sure he is not,” Arthur answers calmly, but his fingers already twitch to reach for his laptop and re-read the Fischer Junior file.

“Maybe he wasn’t before the,” she makes a vague motions with her hands. “You know.”

“Are you suggesting that,” Arthur clucks his tongue, before continuing, not noticing the sudden sharp look of interest on Eames’ face. “Our job had something to do with it?”

“Well, maybe! Just listen! It says here,” she points at the Newspaper – It’s the Sun, notices Eames with a roll of his eyes.

  
 _Robert Fischer or as many still says Fischer Junior, son of the recently deceased Fischer senior, is not handling the stress with his new company well. Our trusted sources say that just yesterday (!!!) in the middle of a very important meeting Mr. Fischer suddenly stormed out of the room and without further ado he made a run to the toilet where he proceed to empty his stomach. This may only suggest a certain level of intoxication. Seeing that those who are close to Mr. Fischer noticed that he was quite out of it for the past few weeks. Could it be that he can’t handle the pressure, was it his drinking problem that was the cause of the many reckless decisions in the past two years?!_

“Sounds more like someone poisoned him,” Eames points out. “If , of course, there is even one seed of truth to it.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“What I mean, _Ariadne_ ,” he smiles, but it’s clearly a patronising smile. “That you’re getting excited over _The Sun_ article. It’s hardly a respectable magazine.”

“There is also a high possibility that someone tries to defame him,” Arthur adds, glancing not so subtly at Saito, who tries to set the newspaper on fire just by pure force of his glare. Cobb notices and gives him a worried look.

“Mr. Saito,” he squints worriedly. “Did you try to poison Robert Fischer?”

“Oh, of course not,” Saito answers in a tone that is anything, but nice and sleek and Cobb nods, deciding to accept this answer, but then Saito continues. “It’s just morning sickness.”

“Excuse me?” Arthur chokes out with a very undignified squeak and fumbles for his loaded die, because he’s either dreaming or Saito needs help right now.

“Jesus…” Ariadne mutters, reaching to her purse to check if her totem is there and then making a list of the things she’d recently taken.

“Morning sickness,” Saito repeats with a soft R. “I believe that’s the correct term in English?”

“Mr. Saito,” Eames chuckles. “It’s a pregnancy term.”

“I stand corrected,” Kenichiro Saito nods with a self-satisfied smirk. “It is morning sickness.”

“Mr. Saito,” Arthur tries again, not really believing the question he wants to ask, because army does not prepare you for this kind of situation. Nor does dream-sharing business. “Are you trying to tell us that Robert Fischer is pregnant?”

“Yes,” Saito answers immediately, but he’s met with blank expressions. For a fleeting moment Eames’ blames himself and his forgeries of other gender for confusing the poor _and clearly unstable man_.

“Bollocks,” Eames chuckles.

Arthur nods absently and adds, “But he’s a man!” In his no-nonsense voice, waving his left hand to accent it.

“Oh, but I assure you he is,” Saito says slowly. “Robert told me this personally.”

“What?” Arthur glances at Eames frantically playing with his poker chip; the Brit’s expression unreadable. “Robert? Robert told you he’s pregnant,” Arthur repeats, dreading the direction this conversation was going. “And _he_ would tell you that… _Because?”_

“I’m the father, obviously,” he answers smugly.

“ _Inhuman_ ,” mumbles Ariadne, but no one pays any attention to her.

+

  
It’s closer to another morning that it is to the evening and many, many drinks later and Arthur might be a bit more out of it than he’d like to admit. At least, he thinks, looking around the bar. _I’m still almost sober._

“It’s bl’dy rubbish,” Eames slurs drunkenly, but Arthur has enough brains left to remember that it might as well be an act. Another shield perfected and polished by the Brit. So that Eames could observe, analyse and drive him crazy as a bonus.

Arthur turns his head in time to see Ariadne hitting the tabletop face first and with a weird hiccupping noise. It unnerves him to watch her in that state. He can’t trust himself to be able to perform a proper CPR if she starts choking on her own vomit.

 _Such a pitiful little death_ , he thinks, sighing deeply.

“Saito fucked Fischer!” Ariadne exclaims, whipping her head up so suddenly that it makes the Point flinch and he sees double for exactly three seconds.

“Ar’dne,” he clears his throat, confronting her mad look with his patented glare, but she waves it away.

“Oh my God, guys! Oh. My. God! Saito fucked Fischer and - ” She starts talking loudly and sounding far to eloquent for someone intoxicated and Arthur is not sure if he’s jealous or in awe, but then it the words she just said hit him in the face and he lunges forward to push his palm against her mouth. It’s a tad bit difficult, because she still tries to talk and Eames is leaning heavily into his side and, “Babies’R’us,” Eames is not slurring anymore.

 _Am I the only drunk one here_ , he thinks panicked and then his mind betrays him and Jesus, he lets go of Ariadne and sits down, crossing his legs. _Eames' voice is hot!_ And it makes him think thoughts that are not suitable for public.

“What are you talking about now Eames,” Arthur huffs, but the man just smiles lazily at him. Arthur tries to blame the slight flush on the shots they had been doing before, because he’s not repressed. He is a professional.

“He’s still fucking Fischer!” Ariadne’s enthusiasm doesn’t waver. It actually seems to be getting greater with each second. It scares Arthur and drives unwanted attention to their table.

Two adults and a girl that looks like she’s twelve. Christ, he thinks. _I don’t want to be arrested for paedophilia._

“Jesus,” Arthur curls over the tabletop and hides his face in hands. “Ariadne, that is even more preposterous idea than Fischer carrying Saito’s offspring!” He moans, glad the he’d stopped dreaming a few years back. He does not need sex fantasies about people he works with.

“It could be cute.”

“What?!”

Eames looks at him fondly, “I said, _darling_. That it could be cute.”  
“I bet they did it in Saito’s office,” Ariadne disturbs the sudden tension before sighing contently and putting her head back on the table. It’s the moment Arthur starts wondering if it’s possible to incept yourself. It would be so much easier to live some boring life as a school janitor, having to worry about smoking teenagers not the possibility of male pregnancy and gay sex.

  
+

It’s some time later, when they mission is still going and Saito had been called back to his office in New York, to personally attend to a few auctions, to make sure that their purchases were actually worth something. As a man this powerful he had to be wary of each move other companies were making. For once it is clear that he’s not happy about being here, but with Robert visiting he hopes for a slight improvement in his mood.

He is wrong.

“You’re taking this far too calmly,” Robert says eyeing a very comfortable coach in Saito’s office; it tempts him with the soft cushions and a faint scent of leather that he enjoys. “Would you believe me if I said I was abducted by aliens as well?” He snorts, looking back to Saito, seated at his mahogany desk.  
The man looks back at him, with a quirk of an eyebrow, “Were you?”

“Mr. Saito,” Robert’s grits his teeth and licks his mouth before pursing his lips. “I’m sure you find the whole situation very amusing, but I assure you that --“ he stops himself, because this is ridiculous, this whole situation, them, this relationship. _Everything is just ridiculous and why does he care anyway._

“Yes?” Saito asks, because he might be a patient man, but a feeling in his gut tells him that the situation is getting out of control and he does not appreciate that.

“Maybe I’m an alien?” Robert snorts with a nervous and slightly hysteric  
giggle, his voice raising. “I think I might be some kind of ET reincarnation, so you know one day I will be all Robert go home and you will have no problem with accepting that, won’t you?”

“Robert,” Saito says his name, unable to accent R properly, softening the letter. “You’re stressed I can arrange a week or two vacation for you in Kyoto--”

“I’m not stressed Mr. Saito!” Robert shrills and huffs angrily, pulling Saito from his chair, by the lapels of his suit. “I’m carrying your offspring you can’t explain that using some lame excuse as stress!”

“I’m afraid I’m not a scientist to be able to explain this properly,” Saito keeps his voice even, one of his hands going to his pocket to check if the old, leaking pen was still there.

Robert snarls and lets him go, “That’s all you have to say?”

Saito smoothens his suit, “We’re very active sexually--”

“It doesn’t change the fact that I’m a man!” Robert hisses and thanks heavens that the gene pool in his family had been merciful enough to spare him _the mad-blushing disease his great grandmother had_ and hisses, “Men do not randomly get pregnant from anal sex! It’s either I got abducted by aliens and they imprinted on me or all of this is just another dream. A damn nightmare--”

“It is not--” Saito interrupts him with an odd flicker in his eyes, but Robert is too angry to think anything of it. “I assure you this is reality.”

“You’re really just accepting it.”

“I do. It makes things easier.”

Robert grits his teeth harder, “It just makes things easier, and why, pray tell, is that?”

“I don’t have to hire myself a mistress.”

“ _A mistress_.”

“Yes, or a surrogate mother.”

“ _An Incubator_.”

“Yes, that is the term you can use as well.”

“So it’s a good thing that I’m not only your _convenient fuck_ , but am also carrying your baby as a bonus.”

Saito raises his hand at this, “Robert, a man of my position needs an heir and –“

“Have you even thought of consulting me first?”

“Robert, I’m afraid I don’t –“

“You didn’t,” Robert snorts and feels pitiful, used and so fucking naïve that he wants to crawl under the nearest bed and stay there. Forever. “Of course you didn’t.”

“Robert –“ Saito tries again, reaching for him, but Robert takes a step back, glaring coldly.

“Excuse me, Saito-san,” he narrows his eyes, before turning away and stepping towards the door. “I have a company to take care off,” he finishes and leaves in a few quick strides, closing the door shut with more force than needed.

Saito stands, a frown painted on his face, looking at the heavy door. The room around him is suddenly too silent and there is a lingering scent of Robert’s shampoo in the air.

  
+

 _I’m working with a bunch of mentally handicapped criminals,_ realizes Yusuf. It would be a lie saying it’s the first time those thoughts had crossed his mind, but really. Things are simply crossing the line and it does not agree with his easy, albeit full of illegal substances, life.

  
“Pregnant.”

“Yes, pregnant,” Ariadne shrugs as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “Saito got him pregnant.”

“Saito made Robert Fischer pregnant,” he repeats dumbly, because he is not sure what one is supposed to say in a situation like this one.

“I bet he enjoyed it too,” giggles Ariadne, waggling her eyebrows and Yusuf’s faith in humanity is brutally crumbling down.

  
+

Minutes, after his eye-opening conversation with Saito, Robert bursts into his office. Now, he is anything, but a stupid man. After all had somehow attained a title of a business prodigy in the two last years, just after splitting his father’s company, but it was his hard work and natural stubbornness that helped him.

 _Prodigy my ass. They’d love me to fall to my knees or bend me over to show me where my place is,_ he thinks and pushes the memory of Saito doing just that, out of his mind. It had been Robert himself, after all, who had started their illicit affair out of a better judgement. His sudden rush of freedom got better of him and somewhere along the way Saito got involved.

  
So Robert Michael Fischer is anything, but a whiny kid, and a hissy fit in the middle of his office is out of the question. No, he is not a kid. He’s a goddamn hormonal teenager with too much money and too much free time on his hands.

 _And now I’m also a knocked-up teenager,_ he thinks with a snort. Fantastic.

He craves to drink something alcoholic. Whisky, or preferably Vodka. He needs something to knock him out so he could stop thinking about stupid, incredibly sexy Asian businessmen, who liked to get him knocked up and then don’t even feel stupid about it.

He’s two steps to his desk, where an old, half-empty bottle of Johnny Walker is, when he stops in his tracks. Shit, he thinks and rubs at his face tiredly. _Am I even supposed to drink while being pregnant?_

  
+

Ms. Potts is very happy to be Mr. Robert’s secretary. He’s twenty-eight, but looking younger, with nice set of lips and the biggest, most dreamy eyes she’d seen on a man. Yes, he might’ve some issues with drinking. _Or drugs perhaps?_ She wonders, but shrugs the thought away, because it’s not important. The important part is that, according to the rumours going around the office, he is still single. A young, handsome bachelor with money is not something you look down upon and she knows it.

Perhaps, wearing short skirts and tight sweaters with deep v-necks, is not the subtlest way to goad him into her bed, but she’s in for the kill.

She’s currently thinking up another one of her great plans, when the light on the intercom blinks. She pouts her red lips in a flirty way and answers, “Yes, Mr. Fisher?”

“Ms. Potts,” her superior’s voice seems a bit throaty, before he coughs and adds. “I’d like you to order some good books about pregnancy.”

She feels her eyes widen at this, “Pregnancy, Mr. Fisher?”

“Yes, pregnancy and do it fast,” he finishes and disconnects, leaving Ms. Potts a bit heartbroken and shocked. _Oh well,_ she thinks after a moment. _At least I will have something to gossip about.  
_  
+

Twenty hours later Saito gets himself wounded and, _almost,_ abducted. He is not a damsel in distress, but he could as well be one after the highly ungraceful move of tripping over the carpet and hitting his head on his old, _and hard,_ desk.

A group of people suddenly entering his office, screaming obscenities and pointing guns at him do not justify the action. But at least it stuns the attackers for a full minute, making things easier for Saito’s security to capture them.

  
It’s another two hours till he wakes up. He does not ask question about the attackers, his head pounds painfully and he’s aware of a rather unflattering, purplish bruise on the left side of his temple.

He still has to go through some of the paper work and uses this as an excuse to stay at his office, waving off worried glances of his assistants. He does not mention it to anyone, but it’s also more convenient for him to leave later, when there are less people around to stare at his bruised temple and ego.

  
+

Making decisions based solely on a half remembered dream is not something Robert is proud of. He manages just fine on the outside. He’s all polite, but professional smiles, international conversations and fresh ideas being put to action, but keeping up appearances just for the sake of it makes him weary and tired all the time.

He’s exhausted and would kill for some banana split with cucumbers and maybe a cheeseburger and it makes him more edgy, because according to one of the books, _his secretary had brought him_ , it has everything to do with hormonal changes and pregnancy and this in turn makes him think about Saito.  
 _  
Because it’s all his and his damn dick’s fault_ , he seethes, rubbing at his bulging stomach.

  
+

Saito is half-laying on his leather couch, nursing a bag of frozen peas to his head, when his cell-phone rings.

“You’re a dick,” are Robert’s first words and he winces.

“Robert.”

“You’re a dick and it’s showing, what are you going to do about that?”

“What is showing?” Saito asks, because he might also be having a slight concussion apart from being in pain.

“Your baby,” Robert seethes and Saito hears him sitting down, patting the cushion. “ _Our baby_ ,” he adds as an aftermath. “It’s showing. That or I’m getting fat and it’s still your damn fault. Dick.”

Saito should not find Robert calling him names and talking about their baby - _Their baby, Christ_ – hot. But he does, and can’t shun it away from showing in his voice.

“Robert,” he says and takes a deep breath, eyes closing. “ _Robert_ ,” he repeats and hears the sudden intake of breathe on the other side of the line.

“Saito,” Robert counters, calmer, but still not fully placated. It doesn’t mater, because Saito doesn’t care. He likes him anyway, so he waits. “I need a doctor. I can’t go around with a baby unsupervised and I can’t exactly _go_ to one.”

“I can take care of that,” he answers almost immediately, because this he knows. This he’s good at, taking care of things and making them happen. “I will get you a doctor,” he breathes into the phone, a small smile curling at his lips.

“Good,” says Robert. “Good, but you’re still a dick and I’m going to sleep now.”

“Goodnight, Robert.”

“Goodnight.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Robert is engaged in a heated conversation with one of his lawyers when Saito calls him. It's exactly three days, four hours and forty three minutes after their last conversation and then another fifty minutes when he founds himself in one of Saito's cars, munching extra spicy Wasabi chips and purposely not looking at Saito, who looks quite dashing in his new dark blue suit and wearing the cologne Robert had bought for him personally.

Of course, ignoring Saito proves to be an almost impossible thing to do and besides his bag of chips is empty, so it's not like his mouth is occupied with food at the moment. _Right,_ thinks Robert. _Excuses, excuses._

“Where are we going?”

“You will see,” smoothly answers Saito. He looks almost relaxed, reading the latest Baby&me magazine that Robert would like to possibly un-see if such thing was possible. It annoys him that the man seems to take everything in stride and is clearly oblivious to the amount of stress Robert is under.

“I'm not in the mood for surprises,” he counters and pushes his leg out, kicking Saito's knee, but not hard enough for it to really hurt.

“I can see that,” Saito hums softly and puts the offending magazine away, grabbing at Robert's ankle, slipping his Italian loafer off, his sock following. Roberts, scrunches his brows at this.

“What are you doing?”

“Robert,” Saito chuckles and smoothly bends his head down, kissing the top of the younger man's foot with his dry lips. It tickles and they're in the car and Robert was never one to believe in those dark tinted windows anyway and he's sure some mad paparazzi is going to jump out of nowhere, but... But Saito's lips are on his skin and then his fingers start kneading and pushing in all the right places and Robert's feet had been killing him and who cares if they're practically in public when it feels so damn good.

“You're trying to distract me,” he whines, but closes his eyes and pushes his foot harder against the man's fingers. “That's playing dirty,” he adds, but Saito hums some more and pushes his fingers up, now kneading his calf and probably creasing the trouser leg in the process, but at the moment, Robert just doesn't care.

“We're there, Mr. Saito,” the driver's voice carry from a small speaker above their heads and the moment is gone.

+

It's hard to tell who is more surprised, the team – Cobb is on the verge of hyperventilating – or Robert himself, who is torn between annoyed and confused like hell.

“Who,” Robert asks, turning his face to Saito. “Are those people?”

“It's my special team,” Saito beams smoothly, ignoring the air of the awkwardness in the room.

“Special team,” Robert repeats, but then turns his attention to Cobb. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“No,” the man answers hastily, squinting at him.” I'm quite sure it's the first time you've ever seen me. Ever.”

“You seem very familiar,” Robert says, not ready to abandon the notion, a name Charles floats somewhere in the back of his mind.

“No, I don't,” Cobb answers violently and there is a nervous tick in his right eye. ”My face is very common, you're probably mistaking me with someone.”

“Right,” Robert answers doubtfully and rubs at the bridge of his nose. “You know what, ignore me. You're probably Mafia and I don't want to know the details. ”

One of the men, wearing an atrocious pink paisley shirt, chuckles and murmurs something to a girl next to him. The man, wearing a Cavalli's suit, huffs at them and takes a few steps forward, buttoning his suit jacket, but Robert still notices the gun at his waist.

“I'm Arthur,” the man introduces himself with a sharp, but very professional smile.

“Robert Fischer,” he answers, shaking Arthur's hand and looking him straight in the eye. He has no idea what more he can say in the situation. He's sure that this Arthur person, knows very well who he is and it makes him feel a bit paranoid, but most definitely pissed off at Saito, who doesn't seem very eager to explain anything for him.

“It's a pleasure,” smiles Arthur and he has dimples when he does so, suddenly looking young and carefree and Robert can't help wondering about his age and what person is underneath this mask.

“Likewise, although I'm not sure why I'm here, Mr. Arthur,” he answers, but his smile is strained, guarded. He's been too long in this business to be all cherry and trusting.

But he can play this game.

+

“But I'm a chemist not a doctor!” Hisses Yusuf, when Saito kind of corners him and explains that he's sure that with the proper amount of money he will manage to check on Robert _just fine_. Yusuf agrees, of course he does, but mentally swears to lay of the drugs. For good. Somnacin be damned, it was hard enough to not loose your mind in this business without freakish male pregnancies.

But Yusuf had agreed and he's a man of his words, which only proves him again that he's also an idiot for being so greedy and ignoring the circumstances. Again. He should have known better, but it's too late for that and now he's alone in the room with Robert Fischer, asking him to take off his clothes.

+

 _Of course Saito would have Mafia ties._

Why am I even surprised? Asks himself Robert, but he still takes off his shirt and lays down on a small cot, hoping it's clean. He puts both of his hands on his stomach, because the room is chilly and it makes goosebumps rise on his skin. Not to mention the odd, stuffy smell in the air, of rotten fruits, chemistry and cats, makes him wrinkle his nose. It's all rather disgusting, but he suppresses the rude comment, deeming it safer to keep that one to himself.

“I'm going to have to touch you,” says the man, _Yusuf,_ and sits on a creaking, wooden chair next to the cot, waiting for his decision.

“You're not even a real doctor,” Robert snorts, because he's no fool and the man is probably some drug dealer or worse, but he moves his hands, eyeing the man for any sharp objects. Just to be sure. “This is ridiculous.”

“You're pregnant, tell me exactly how ridiculous that is, mate,” the man counters with a raise of an eyebrow, as his gloved fingers touch the tight skin on Robert's stomach, feeling it.

“It's either a really long nightmare or I'm an alien,” Robert mutters and turns his face away, staring at the wall. It's doesn't hurt, but it's not exactly comfortable, to feel some stranger touch him this intimately. Robert had never been the type to be all touchy feely, he drove a line with handshakes. No hugs, brotherly clapping on the back, friendly kisses - For the past two years it's been only one person. _Only Saito_ , whose fingers and lips got to trace the skin of his body, whose scent clang to Robert's sheets when he would stay over, practising a proper way of saying Robert's name. The young businessman shivers again, remembering what Saito did in the car, and takes a deep breath, urging his body to calm down. He still has some dignity left and it's not like he was a blushing virgin when Saito managed to get him into his bed, and on a desk, in the office, on the floor – _Stop right there, you traitorous mind!_

“It's not a nightmare,” the man sighs after a moment and Robert snorts, turning to look at his face.

“How can you be so sure?”

“How did you get here?” Yusuf asks him seriously, instead of answering.

“I drove in a car with Saito.”

“And before that?”

“I've been having a conversation with – why does it even matter?”

“It doesn't,” the man shrugs and stands up. “I need to take a blood sample, do you mind?”

“Is is sterile?” Robert asks with a frown at the sudden change of the topic, but doesn't push. He's curious, how could he not be, but he's no fool and he can ask Saito later. _If he tells me the truth that is._

“Of course,” Yusuf nods and reaches for the new, unopened needle. “It has to be in this business,” the man chuckles, before clearing his throat at the slip.

“Then kick yourself out,” Robert says and turns his face back to the wall, _in this business_ , huh.

+

“What the fuck were you thinking?!” Cobb finally snaps when Yusuf and Fischer are out of the main room. Arthur, who had been expecting this, moves to a safe distance, in case the man wanted to involve someone else in the discussion. Of course, he fully agrees with his best friend's sentiment, but he'd rather avoid having to pick sides. They are not in a kindergarten for heaven's sake, _and Saito had been signing their pay checks for the past few months._ You don't just go pretending it's not important.

“I believe Mr. Yusuf is a very capable man,” Saito answers politely, reaching for one of Ariadne's Architecture magazines from her work desk, looking through it with a bored expression. “And I decided to use his potential.”

“By bringing Robert Fischer here,” Cobb squints, his fingers itching to pull the magazine from Saito's hands, so the man would look him in the eye. “What if he had recognized us?!”

“It seemed neater,” Saito shrugs and looks up at Cobb with an amused expression. “I'd know by now if he remembered.”

“You should have tell us something beforehand!”

“Mr. Cobb,” Saito sighs and puts the magazine down. “I believe you're overreacting. I choose to come here, because I believe your team is very capable,” he says with a smirk, standing up and putting his hands in his pockets, fingering the old pen. “And I also believe you can keep a secret.”

Cobb looks flabbergasted at this, but Saito's off-handed compliments work just fine to calm him down. The team stopped being surprised long time ago.

+

Robert is glad to be allowed to put his shirt back on. He buttons it up fully and leaves the sleeves down, wanting to cover as much of his skin as he possibly can. He nods at Yusuf and is out of the door, before the other man can say anything. He doesn't like this place.  
Saito's team is scattered around the room, working, with the exception of the squinting man from before, who is nowhere to be seen. Probably off, killing some poor soul, thinks Robert and nods at the young girl, Ariadne, who smiles at him, before turning back to what looks like a cardboard model of a Shinto Shrine on her desk.

“Robert,” says Saito, pocketing his phone and walking over to him, as always ignoring the concept of personal space. He's been like that from the very beginning. Not touching, just looming over him and making sure that Robert was aware he was there.

“Mr. Yusuf took my blood samples,” Robert shrugs, wanting to move even closer, to hide his face in the place where Saito's neck meets shoulder. He'd been raised to act cold, indifferent since he was a child. Wanting to make his father proud, to prove him he was worthy his love... But his father had been dead and the times, they're changing, he is no longer standing in his father's shadow.

“Robert,” Saito repeats, this time scrunching his brows and reaching out for the man, but Robert just huffs and moves to sit on the couch, the Japanese man following and sitting close.

“I thought public displays of affection weren't your thing, Mr. Saito,” Robert murmurs and pulls out his blackberry, to check his e-mails, to distract himself from the warmth at his side.

“We're not in public,” answers Saito and his hot breath makes the skin on Robert's neck itch. He looks up, but avoids Saito's eyes and instead glances at Ariadne discussing something with Arthur, both of them leaning over the model she'd built and Eames, the man with a British accent, seems to be busy reading an old, battered copy of some book that Robert does not recognize.

 _They're not looking_ , he thinks.

“Well, I am not -” he says softly, finally daring to look his lover in the eye, their noses almost brushing. Saito's eyes are soft, with something raw and open in them and it's him, who tries to turn away this time, but Robert puts his cold palm on Saito's warm one, wanting to feel that hand on his skin. He is aware that his behaviour is weird, weirder than usual, so he opens his mouth, wanting to say something wise and mature, something that wouldn't sound desperate and needy, because that's how he feels right now and there are other people in the room, even if Saito knows them, perhaps even trusts on some level, they still shouldn't -

“Please refrain from making out on this couch,” Arthur's voice cuts into his galloping thoughts and when Robert looks up, they are all looking at them, and he feels ashamed, like this one time when his father caught him in his mother's clothing and – _Get a grip Robert_ , he kicks himself mentally and assures Arthur that _They don't plan on it. He's not planning on it and feel free to go back to whatever you do and pretend, he's not here._

But that only makes the paisley man – you can call me Eames, he says – chuckle and glance at him from time to time with an amused curve to his plushy lips that could easily rival Robert's own pretty mouth, but he's not so vain as to admit he's got pretty a pretty mouth, even if he'd like Saito to tell him that or buy him more of those Wasabi chips, because he's really very hungry. _It's all Saito's fault._

He goes back to his e-mails, Saito's palm warm under his.

+

 _Perhaps Robert Fischer really is an alien?_

The beautiful thing about science is the fact that it doesn't lie. You can't fake the results so easily, or randomly imagine a compound that doesn't exist in the real world. There is a reason why Yusuf prefers to stay above over going under, into the dream world. He's seen people, who've been lost to the real world, making it impossible to come back.

He'd made a mistake of going with one of them under, once.

And science is steady. It won't cheat or abandon you, but right now Yusuf is having some serious doubts about what he sees under his microscope. Because what he sees is irrational and should not have the right to be. It has to be a mistake. It happens, he's hasty by nature and he probably mixed something when checking on the blood samples.

+

Three hundred forty four, three hundred forty five, three hundred forty six.

Robert likes counting. It calms him down, used to calm him down at least, it does nothing to kill his apprehension and irritation and when he feels like his head is going to explode a thought occurs to him.

 _They were surprised to see him. They weren't surprised he was pregnant._

“I need some air,” he gasps and stands up, dizzy, feeling like a fool. “I need to get out of here.”

“Robert?” Saito stands up alarmed, touching Robert's arm gingerly, but the younger man pulls away with a glare, reaching for his jacket. “Robert, you look pale,” he tries again and receives only a stubborn raise of the other's chin.

+

Robert's storming out in a fit, leaves the room in a heavy silence. Saito is stunned by the accusation he saw in the other's face and it takes him a few moments to compose himself and act as if nothing happened.

Even if there is a painful pang in his chest and he's angry. Oh, so angry. He wants to run after Robert and demand what the hell is wrong with him, what is it this time, because he might care for the man, but he won't be treated like that.

Kenichiro Saito is a powerful man, and he won't be played by some young fool. No matter if the sad young fool, has also a brilliant smile and wit and knows him better than any woman that came before him.

 _That I might care about more that I let on,_ he thinks and it angers him even more, so he curses loudly and practically runs out of the room, mindless of his surroundings.

+

He finds Robert in the backyard, fuming and murmuring obscenities under his nose. He's angry, mad almost and he doesn't see Saito at first, busy with running his hands thorough his hair, making it greasy. Saito, feels like he's going to snap, yell and maybe break something.

He longs for the times when he wasn't a businessman, when he had been a street punk, running around the dark alleys of the suburbs with with a gang of small fries, terrorizing people with dirty threats and dark promises that used to be his only weapon, besides a knife or sometimes a stolen gun.

He clenches his hands in a fists and puts them in his pockets, to stop himself from doing something violent, like hitting a wall till he bleed, and snarls at Robert, “What is your problem?”

Robert, his annoying, bitchy Robert stops his mad pacing and looks at him, through him, with an expression of utter disgust, of betrayal.

“How many people?” He asks quietly, but his voice is shaking. “How many people know?! Mr. Saito?!”

“Know about what, Robert? About how you decided to throw a hissy fit, and act immature and irrational?”

“About the fact that we're sleeping together! About the fact that I'm carrying your infant! I didn't tell no one, Saito. No one!” He hisses, but his voice is steadily rising. “You know why? Because I respect you, because I respect your privacy and then you bring me here and they know, just like that. They know!” He growls, shaking and fighting with himself, to not jump out and hit Saito square in the face.

Saito blinks, once, twice and then for a third time, “You're mad, because they know?”

“How could I not be. I'd expect you to keep private things private. You know the word! Don't tell me you don't! Privacy, such a splendid little word!”

With this, Saito snaps, “Why would I try to hide something like this. Why would I feel ashamed of being with someone I choose myself?! I'm not a teenager, wanting to be accepted by their colleges and dancing like they tell me to!” Growled Saito, stalking to Robert and catching his arms in a firm grip, giving him a shake, before moving them up, cradling the American's face in his wide palms, breathing against his lips. “I am capable of making my own decision and I do not need to hide them, Robert. **I do not need that. I don't want to regret anything and grow old alone. Never again.* ”**

+

Robert feels overwhelmed, confused. He hadn't been expecting Saito to start yelling, to catch him and almost made him swallow the words straight from his mouth. _What was the last part_ , he wonders, feeling hot, light-headed. Saito rarely spoke Japanese in his presence. _He wants to know._

“What does it mean,” he whispers, breathing in Saito's smell. “The thing you said, what does it mean?” he asks again, more urgent, pushing closer, the distance between their bodies almost non-existent. “What does it mean Saito... Kenichiro, dammit! Tell me,” Robert hisses and bites his lower lip, but instead of the answer he gets a growl and a kiss. A violent kiss.

It's like a claim, as if Saito is trying to imprint on him, to make sure he was his. _His._

And Robert knows he should be offended. To be treated like that, a man of his position, _but fuck it if he isn't happy that he is the one, provoking such reactions from someone, who practically owns half of the world._

When they stop, the need for air proving to be stronger, the whole thing feels silly, immature to both of them, but it's Saito, who breaks the silence first, moving his palms down, touching Robert's stomach and trying to cover it with both of his hands.

“I am happy about this,” he says, his eyes serious. “I want this baby. Our baby.”

“So what?” Robert snorts, looking up at him. “You were so happy that you wanted to brag to your special team of assassins?”

“Yes,” Saito answers with a brilliant smile and a soft peck at his lips. “Maybe, I wanted to... Brag as you put it... They're not assassins.”

“Oh... So, hey,” Robert whispers and bites his lip again, looking away. “We're going to have a baby.”

“Yes, Robert.”

+

“Guys, you won't believe this,” Yusuf says excitedly when he steps out into the main room, with a stack of papers under his arms. Hair wild, glasses askew. “Robert Fischer is an alien!”

 

* spoken in Japanese.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story had been originally posted at my lj and is now currently on hold, because I have other projects working on, but it is not abandoned.


End file.
